


The Prodigy

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Series: The Prodigy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Loves Dean, Castiel in the Bunker, Classical Music, Dean Loves Castiel, Dean Misses Castiel, Dean Plays Piano, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Inspired by Music, Love, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Music, POV Dean Winchester, Piano, Prodigy Dean, Profound Bond, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Secret love, Secrets, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a secret that not even his brother knows. When he finds an old broken piano in the bunker, he lets himself indulge in that secret after years of burying it under what a hunter is supposed to be. His playing draws Castiel back home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prodigy

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by this gif of Jensen.  
> 

Not even Sam knew that secret about Dean. Years on the road didn't exactly give the hunter many opportunities to indulge in it, but exploring the bunker revealed the instrument in a dusty back room just sitting there waiting for his hands. He found it broken and horribly out of tune once he yanked the filthy white sheet off of it. At first he ignored it--or tried to anyway--but the night he idly tapped an old tune into the kitchen counter while a can of soup heated up, he knew his itch to play wouldn't go away anytime soon.

It took a credit card stolen in secret to pay for the repairs and restoration. And then it took sending his brother alone on a job to give the repair guy time to do his work. Dean decided he deserved this. He hadn't heard from Castiel in weeks and that piano ... well, it used to fill all kinds of voids when he was younger. Maybe, just maybe, not having Castiel around again wouldn't hurt so bad if he let himself play again.

Everything else in that cluttered, abandoned room reeked of age and decay except the piano. He thought of the first one he ever touched in the boys' home when he got arrested for stealing food. Nobody expected such a juvenile delinquent had that kind of raw talent in him, least of all himself. A few fistfights after other boys teased him quickly schooled him in keeping it a secret. Tough boys didn't play piano. Real men didn't give a shit about music. Those ideas were only reinforced by his father when Dean tried to tell him about it. Admonishments for not practicing with weaponry or studying different monsters followed and that was that. Dean pushed it down in his gut along with so many other things left behind in the name of the family business.

But at 35, Dean pulled out the bench and hesitantly lowered himself onto it, almost fearful that his father would rise from the grave just to yell at him again. He stared at the keys, once ivory but now yellowed with age, and stretched his fingers. Knuckles popped and loosened. He waited. Having never learned to read music, he remembered compositions by ear.

Playing the first notes came out hesitant and stilted until his fingers took over for him. They remembered the calming effect music had on him. Slowly, the music smoothed out as he progressed through the mournful notes composed more than a hundred years before that night. It felt good. For once in his godforsaken life, he felt like himself more than ever. And if the sadness he felt over Castiel being gone for so long came through the notes ... well, that was his own business. He sat alone in the bunker with only the cold cement walls to witness the secrets he let flow from his fingertips.

He transitioned seamlessly into a second, equally mournful song and closed his eyes. Playing in his own darkness with only sensation to guide him became a safe cocoon where he burrowed between the keys. It poured out of him--every minute of feeling beaten and alone in the universe, every second of fearing his attachment to Castiel, every moment of feeling like he failed Sam over and over again.

Footsteps fell behind Dean, though he didn't notice. A hunter of his skill would have considered that a monumental lapse in judgment but Dean set aside his hunter instincts for the sake of feeling human again.

The footsteps drew nearer.

Eyes studied the slope of his broad shoulders and the way his subtle swaying flowed back and forth with the music. It ceased to be simple songs remembered by a boy who could have been so much more in another place, in another life, and became an open conduit, a declaration of all things left undone and unsaid between a man and an angel.

A hand stretched over Dean's shoulder and squeezed, offering a silent greeting. His eyes popped open, startled, and he struck a few misplaced sour notes until the song eventually faded away. Another hand slipped over his other shoulder, infusing him with such familiar power. He smelled of the earth, of air, and of the sea all at once. And as Dean sat perfectly still on the piano bench and let his eyes fall shut again, he swore he felt the enormous outline of wings sheltering him from prying eyes, letting him touch the piano without reservation.

"Hey, Cas," he murmured without looking up. There was no need.

"Hello, Dean." The angel's thumb peeled away from his shoulder and grazed the corner of his stubbled jaw. A thousand declarations passed between them with that smallest of gestures.

Now Castiel knew all of Dean's secrets.


End file.
